by Diane Weiner
“Exactly my theory,” said Travis. “Is Sara in danger?”
“I can help you board up the window, and I’ll have a patrol car park outside in case whoever it is decides to return.”
Travis turned to her. “You can sleep on the sofa. Or better yet, take my room and I’ll sleep down here. You’ll feel better upstairs.”
She was too exhausted to protest.
Chapter 7
Exhausted as she was, Sara tossed and turned, despite Travis’s downy comforter and crisp new sheets. The thought of someone deliberately puncturing Travis’s tires and breaking into his place, stealing info from Ellie’s computer, and, of course, the murder, made her sick to her stomach.
Then came the nightmares––Ellie begging her to find her killer. Ellie saying to keep her secret safe. She woke with a start, pulse racing, sweat soaking her nightshirt. What’s that? Voices? Is Travis talking to someone? She listened at the door. It sounded like he was on the phone. In the middle of the night?
She heard parts of the short conversation. “Status quo. Under wraps. She won’t be a problem.”
Who won’t be a problem? Ellie? Me? Her head ached. She took a Benadryl from her purse, hoping it would help her sleep. She managed to drift off and was relieved when the sun peeked through the bottom of the blinds, signifying morning.
She took a shower, then made the bed. She jumped when she heard a sudden knock on the bedroom door. I’ve got to get my nerves under control.
Travis called through the door. “Sara, you want breakfast? I’ve got to go soon but I made eggs.”
She wondered if she should ask him about the middle of the night phone conversation. Nothing like painting a target on your back if he was talking about you! “Um, sure.” She opened the door and followed him into the kitchen. When she grabbed a coffee mug, it slipped from her hands. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”
Travis grabbed the broom. “I’ve got a spare. We can share it. Are you getting help for your condition?”
“What condition?”
“Focal Dystonia, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m a physical therapist, remember?”
“At first I thought it was Carpel Tunnel. It’s threatening my livelihood.”
“Maybe I can help. Why don’t you come with me tomorrow? My office is in the hospital. I’ll squeeze you in.”
“You really think you can help?”
“I’ll try. No promises, but there are stretches and exercises that may help.”
“I was told there’s no cure. I’m on a leave of absence from my job and I doubt I’ll be able to return. I can’t tell my parents. I can’t afford the insurance premiums either, so I haven’t been able to see a specialist.”
“Enough with the sob story. Finish your eggs and let’s go.”
When they got to the hospital, a patient was already waiting for Travis. Sara sat in the waiting room, flipped through a worn People magazine, checked her phone, then took a walk around the hospital to burn off her nervous energy. When she passed a nurses’ station, her ears perked up like a German Shepard’s. Three young nurses chatted as they checked their iPads.
“I heard she refused to give him back that engagement ring. I heard it was at least eight carats.”
“Bet it was worth a million dollars. That’s motive all right.”
“I would have kept it too. The cad goes and cheats on her the week before the wedding?”
“That’s the rumor, anyway. I heard his family was going to take her to court to get the ring back.”
“I’ve seen cases like this before. On Judge Judy. The ring was a gift and Preston Montague had no right to demand its return.”
“So what happens now? Did they give the ring back to the family now that she’s dead?”
“His mother was here yesterday for some tests. She went on and on about the ring and how she is going to sue the police if they don’t find it.”
“Is it their job to find it?”
“Yeah, like when a patient thinks it’s our job to make the hospital food taste good.”
The call button flashed.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Sara pieced together a scenario. Ellie wouldn’t return the ring. Her fiancé went to her house to ask for it back but Ellie refused to give it to him. In a rage, he hit her over the head. Ellie wanted Sara to keep him from finding the ring, but why her? She had no idea where the ring was. She hadn’t even known Ellie was engaged.
She pulled out her phone and Googled local news. Charles and Helen Winston Montague announce the engagement of their son Preston Elliot Montague to Eleanor Rossi, daughter of Mary and Anthony Rossi of Hudsonville. The Montagues. Of course. She continued searching. Charles Montague, head of the empire, made the Forbes list of ten wealthiest people last year. And they’re making a big fuss over a ring?
She headed back to the waiting room. Travis poked his head out. “I’ll be another thirty minutes.” He shut the door before she could respond.
She took a walk back to the nurse’s station. “I heard you talking about the murder earlier. Ellie was my friend. I was supposed to house sit. I’m the one who found the body.”
“Oh my God, how awful!” One of the nurses hugged her. “Are you okay?”
“I just want to know who did this to her.”
“Everyone loved Ellie. I can’t imagine anyone but Preston Montague being angry enough to kill her.”
“You knew Ellie?”
“Sure. She was a sales rep. Medical devices—insulin pumps, artificial joints, internal defibrillators... We saw her at least once or twice a week.”
“So she got along with everyone at the hospital?”
“Mostly. Except for Dr. Peters. Dr. Peters used to date Preston––before Ellie. She should be on the suspect list.”
One of the nurses said, “That’s a rumor. You know how stories take on a life of their own. Dr. Peters is a successful surgeon. I can’t imagine her being hung up on Preston Montague.”
“But we know she was. We heard her arguing with Ellie in the cafeteria that day, remember?”
“Really?” said Sara.
“I do. She said it wouldn’t happen. Preston would come to his senses.”
Sara’s phone buzzed. “I have to get to an appointment, but I may be back. I’m on vacation visiting my parents and the gossip is a good distraction.”
“I hear ya,” said one of the nurses. The other nodded.
Sara ran to Travis’s office.
“Where were you? I don’t have a lot of time.”
“You didn’t tell me Ellie worked here in the hospital.”
“She didn’t exactly work here. She was a sales rep.”
“Did you work with her?”
“She carried knee and hip joints from a local company. She showed them to me as a courtesy, but the real sell had to be to the orthopedic docs. Let me see your hand.”
Travis’s hand felt soft and strong as he examined her fingers, then hand, then arm. He moved her fingers with the care of an artist. “Grip my hand. Do you feel pain?”
“No pain, mostly it feels numb.”
“I’m almost positive it’s dystonia. It’s not a common disorder, but it shows up disproportionately in musicians. Let me show you some exercises you can do at home. Then, let’s set up some sessions here in the rehab room. I also want you to see an internist.”
“I can’t pay an internist, or you, for that matter.”
“It’s on the house, really. Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t…”
“It took me all of ten minutes. Not a problem.”
“Well, thank you. By the way, do you know a Dr. Peters?”
“Jailyn Peters, sure. Why?”
“I was talking to the nurses. They said she was jealous of Ellie and told her the wedding wouldn’t happen.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I try to stay out of gossip.”
“I’m going to head to my parent’
s house. Dad could use some help at the shop.”
“If you wait another thirty minutes I’ll drop you off.”
She debated over taking a taxi—one of the half dozen serving the entire town––or waiting the half hour. Again, money was an issue.
“I’ll grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Thanks.”
She took the elevator to the cafeteria. The donuts and croissants called to her, but she mustered up her self-control and went with just coffee. A tall blonde who looked like a young Christie Brinkley was ahead of her in line, buying plain yogurt and an apple. She noticed the embroidery on the white coat she wore over dark blue scrubs. Jailyn Peters, MD. The orthopedic surgeon. Preston Montague’s ex. She sat at the table behind her.
Ellie was pretty, but Dr. Peters would look at home wearing a tiara and sash. She had manicured nails, designer eyeglass frames, and an expensive haircut. Opposite of girl-next-door Ellie. Ellie came from a family of hard-working farmers who donated time and what money they could spare to the church. Growing up, Sara loved spending time at their house. Ellie’s mother didn’t care if they took apart the sofa cushions to build a fort, or spilled flour all over the kitchen counter when attempting to make pancakes. Somehow she got the impression that Dr. Peters had grown up quite differently—more like how she imagined the Montagues.
While she sipped her coffee, a middle-aged man in an expensive suit took a seat at the table with Dr. Peters. Despite the din in the cafeteria, she could hear bits of the conversation.
“Dr. Peters, I hope you’re still on board, in spite of the unfortunate death of our junior sales rep. I’ve personally taken over the project. Can I count on you?”
“Of course. Having the recalled stock pulled from the shelves created a problem.”
“It’s under control, as you know. Looking forward to remaining business partners.”
A group of nurses sat at the adjacent table. Even with her keen sense of hearing, their laughter and chatter made it impossible to continue eavesdropping. Sara looked at her watch. Better get upstairs or I’ll miss my ride.
Chapter 8
When she got home, she went out back to the oboe shop. She straightened out the lucky horseshoe she made her father nail above the door before she left for college. While no longer a barn, the shop was notoriously drafty and several space heaters were positioned around the work area to help keep the wood from cracking.
“Dad, what can I do?” Her father was bent over a work table, holding the beginnings of an oboe. He jumped when he realized she was behind him.
“You scared me half to death. It’s your vacation. Go inside and relax.”
“No, I want to help. I’ll start by sorting out the mess of repair tickets. Is Grandpa coming in?”
“I don’t know. It’s his nap time. Some days he’s more in the way than he is helpful. His hip has been bothering him and he can’t sit in one spot to work for very long.”
She pulled out the repair tickets and lined them up on the desk. She tagged the instruments, then got to work.
“You still remember how?”
“How to unbend a key or change a pad. Child’s play!” It was nostalgic working alongside her dad. Growing up, she’d always relished the time she spent in the shop with him and her grandfather.
As she was working, the phone on her desk rang. “Dad, it’s for you. Frasier Woodwinds.”
He grabbed the phone. “Hello. Yes, I’ve been looking at the contract. It’s a very fair price, but I’m still thinking it over. It’s been a family business for three generations and it’s a lot to think about. I’ll get back to you by the new year.”
“Dad, who was that? You’re not selling the business are you?”
“Honey, I’m not sure how much longer I can manage without your grandfather’s help. The manpower has essentially been cut in half. That means I can do half as much work and I get half as much income. We’re losing money.”
“But you own this building.”
“Our converted barn? Yes, we own it, but I’m paying for heat, electricity, and I have to lay out money for supplies before I get paid for making an instrument. It’s getting to be too much.”
“I can help. Look, I’ve already fixed this leaky pad.”
“Nice, honey, but in two weeks you’ll be back in San Francisco.”
She didn’t want her parents worrying about her and wasn’t planning to tell them about her leave of absence. However, in the six months she would be here, perhaps she could make a difference and help get things back on track.
“Any idea when you’ll be able to move into Ellie’s?”
“The police said a couple of days.”
“Any leads?”
“I was at the hospital and heard some nurses talking. Ellie broke up with Preston but didn’t return the expensive engagement ring. His family is taking her to court, and the ring has gone missing. Also, there was an ex-girlfriend. A doctor at the hospital. Apparently she was overheard saying the wedding would never happen.”
“Is that who he was cheating with? Your mom heard rumors.”
“I don’t know.”
“So Preston and that doctor are the prime suspects.”
“That we’re aware of. Ellie had a whole part of her life she didn’t share with me. Frankly, I’m miffed that she never even mentioned her engagement.” She didn’t mention her nagging suspicions over Travis’s involvement.
Sara found herself enjoying the repair work. It was her left hand that had been acting up and she was able to work easily with her right hand. How great would it be if Travis could find a way to help her? He’d already suggested a few stretches which she’d tried out in the car. Perhaps it was the placebo effect, but they seemed to help.
Her cell rang. “Hello? Yes, Detective Lambert. No, I didn’t see a phone, it wasn’t in her purse? And you’ve searched the house? Not in her car either. I don’t know. No, I didn’t happen to see an engagement ring. When can I return to the house? Okay, great. Thank you.”
“I assume that was the police.”
“Yeah. They can’t locate Ellie’s phone or the ring. Dad, Ellie left me a message the night she was killed. She asked me not to let them find something.”
“Find what?”
“I have no idea. I’m thinking the ring, but how am I supposed to know where it is?”
“It’s not your job. The police are getting paid to do that, not you.”
“Yeah, like I’m not getting paid to do this.” She held up the instrument she was repairing. “Only kidding. This is a labor of love. Besides, what else am I going to do all day?”
She continued repairing instruments, finding it satisfying––fixing, repairing, making something broken whole again. She watched her Dad focus on the oboe he was crafting—so careful, so absorbed. I can’t picture him doing anything else with his life. This makes him happy. Like playing the oboe does for me…
“Hey, Dad. Do you have any more octave keys?”
“I think there are some in the filing cabinet.”
She rifled through folders, rusty knives, and empty cans of key oil. Too bad her mother needed the paying job over at the police station. She’d have this mess straightened out in a heartbeat. She opened another drawer, but it seemed to be stuck. She tugged as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Dad, what’s with this drawer?”
“It’s been jammed as long as I can remember. Obviously, we’ve been able to manage without whatever’s inside.”
She grabbed tools and oil from the worktable. Then she took one of the turkey feathers they used to clean the inside of the instruments and dabbed the end with oil. Next, she slipped it into the drawer tract. It took time, but eventually it pulled free.
“Here’s the problem.” She pulled out a book that had been lodged in the back.
“A log book?”
“Dad, this dates back to great grandfather. Look at these records, all hand written entries.”
“We used those back in th
e day. No worries about the computer crashing or the electric going out. Cheaper, too. There’s an idea.”
She flipped through the pages. The entries were careful and detailed. 1/17 Black oboe, adjusted measurement of the bell resulting in greater resonance. 1/20 Started making oboe for JM. Told him it would be completed in March. 1/30 Date with Rosie tonight.
“Hey, Dad. Who was Rosie?”
“Rosie? My grandmother’s name was Ruth, not Rosie. Why?”
“Great Grandpa had a date scheduled.”
“Let me see that. Couldn’t be. He was already married by then.”
“Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”
“Very funny. Mom should be getting back from work. Let’s clean up and go inside for dinner.”
When they got back inside, Sara washed the grease off her hands and pulled on sweat pants that she’d left there during her last visit home. She heard her mother’s car pull up.
“Hey. I’m home!” Patty took off her coat and tossed her purse on the sofa.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What a nice surprise. I’m making pork chops for dinner. Do you prefer mashed potatoes or rice?”
“Mom, you don’t have to cook for me.”
“It’s just as easy to cook for four as it is for three. Why don’t you make a salad?”
“I’d be happy to. How was work?”
“Busy. Detective Lambert has been working nonstop on Ellie’s murder. We’ve been trying to locate Preston Montague. I’m checking credit card records for them. His family claims they haven’t seen him.”
“That’s suspicious right there.”
“It gets better. They found a fingerprint on the lamp. Guess who it belonged to?”
“Hmm. Preston Montague?”
“Bingo. They found a second print as well but couldn’t identify it. Oh, and we located Ellie’s parents. They’re flying in tomorrow.
“Oh, no. They’ll want to stay at the house, right?”
“No. They bought a condo in that new retirement subdivision last year. They gave the house to Ellie. I thought I told you.”